Marching With Caesar-Final Campaign, page 44
"I am Publius Claudius Volusenus," the youngster finally said, "and I am here at the direct command of Princeps Gaius Caesar Octavianus, known now as Augustus. I've been sent by him to formally relieve Marcus Primus from his post as Praetor and commander of this army."
Now, I believed every word he was telling me, and I was sure that it was true. Nevertheless, I suppose I could not help myself from trying to exact a small measure of revenge by being as petty as the regulations allowed.
"Well, Claudius Volusenus, I would be remiss in my duties if I didn't ask to see your orders from Augustus."
At first, I was not sure why he suddenly had a smile on his face, but I could tell that, for some reason, I was not going to like what came next. I was right.
"Actually Prefect, I can do better than that." Volusenus might have been smiling, but there was nothing playful in his voice. "I can give you this."
Turning to his colleague Galba, he took a scroll that looked very similar to the one I had seen Volusenus hand Primus. It could have been the same one, except that I immediately saw that the seal was unbroken.
Thrusting the scroll at me, Volusenus continued, "I've been given very explicit instructions, Prefect. You're to read this in my presence, then acknowledge that you have read, understood, and will obey the order."
My heart was thudding as heavily as if I was about to go into battle as I broke the seal and unrolled the scroll. Immediately, I could see that this was written in the hand of Octavian, and it was only through a supreme effort of will that I kept my hands from shaking as I began to read. The message was brief, but very much to the point. Despite my resolve, I heard someone let out a gasp, but such was my agitation that it barely registered that it had come from me. Looking up from the scroll, Volusenus was making no attempt to hide his malicious grin.
"Yes, Prefect. You are ordered to lead the army back to Siscia immediately, then you will proceed immediately to Rome to face a tribunal for your participation in this illegal venture into Thrace."
There has never been a time that I wished more for the counsel and support of Sextus Scribonius than I did at that moment. Walking back to my tent, the scroll still clutched in my hand, my mind was in a fog as I tried to absorb this latest threat, not just to my career, but my life. Entering, Diocles was sitting with Macrinus and Flaminius; I had forgotten that I had told them to wait, and Diocles had broken out an amphora of wine. My face must have given at least Diocles the first sign that something was amiss, because he sprang up and came to me.
"Master?" As always. he was careful to keep up the pretense of our respective status in front of others. "What is it? What's wrong?"
I opened my mouth, but no words came out, so I simply handed him the scroll, then staggered over to the empty stool behind my desk and collapsed onto it. I was vaguely aware of Macrinus and Flaminius at this point, and I imagine that they were alarmed just by my behavior. Then, I heard Diocles let out a gasp as he too walked unsteadily to the stool on which he had been sitting and fell onto it.
"How can this be?" He finally broke the silence, which only deepened the confusion of the other two.
Finally, Macrinus could take it no longer.
"Would someone tell us what's going on?"
I opened my mouth, but found I just could not get the words out, so I waved at Diocles to tell them.
"Augustus has ordered my master to lead the army back to Siscia, then make his way immediately to Rome." He paused, and I saw him swallow hard before he finished. "And stand trial for his role in conducting this campaign."
Macrinus and Flaminius looked at each other, then at me, and under other circumstances, I would have found the way both of their mouths were hanging open humorous.
"His role?" Flaminius shook his head. "What role? You were just like us! Following orders!"
Somehow, I found my voice.
"Apparently, Augustus doesn't see it that way." Even to me, my voice was so hoarse it was almost unrecognizable.
"This is not just!" Diocles burst out, and it comforted me somewhat to see him angrier than I had ever witnessed before, even when Eumenes had been poisoned.
"What can we do?" Macrinus asked quietly.
While I appreciated the sentiment, at the moment, there was nothing I could think of, so I shook my head.
"I appreciate it, Macrinus, but I don't think there's much you can do. Or me, for that matter."
"There has to be something," Diocles insisted, and I was deeply touched by his passion.
"You've done absolutely nothing wrong! You were ordered to participate in this campaign! As was everyone else in the army! If Augustus is going to claim you committed a crime for following orders, then he better put every man in the 8th and 13th up as well!"
Finished with his outburst, Diocles suddenly seemed to lose energy, slumping back onto his stool, head bowed as he stared at the ground.
"It's not just," he repeated, and I realized I had to say something that would at least quell my servant and friend's tongue.
Macrinus and Flaminius I did not worry about as much; they had been playing this game for some time by this point, and I did not expect them say or do anything that would put themselves in jeopardy. Diocles was another story altogether, and I found myself in the unusual position of walking over to place a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.
"It's still a long way off," I said, as much to myself as to him. "And that gives us time to think of something."
Diocles looked up at me, and his eyes searched my face, I suppose to try and determine if I was sincere and believed what I was telling him. All I can say is that this was more of a desperate hope than a strong belief, but at that moment, it was all I had. With nothing more to be said, the two Primi Pili stood.
"We need to go pass the orders that we're going to be marching back home," Macrinus said, and I could easily see he was not looking forward to it.
Before he left, I beckoned to Macrinus.
"As soon as you can, will you send Porcinus to me?" I asked him quietly.
"Of course," he said immediately, but he hesitated for a moment as Flaminius exited.
Macrinus looked down at the scroll, still clutched in my hand, seemingly searching for the right words.
"Go ahead, Macrinus. Say what's on your mind," I told him.
"It's just that...I was thinking about Porcinus," he blurted out. "He's not going to take this well."
"No, I don't imagine he will," I had to agree. "But I'll be the one to tell him."
"Then, will you be sure and warn him not to say anything...foolish?" he asked me, and I cannot describe how touched I was by his concern for my nephew. However, it did demonstrate to me exactly how valued Gaius was by his Primus Pilus, which was something I found extremely touching and telling, and I assured him that I would.
Macrinus nodded his acceptance, then made his own exit. Without hesitating or even thinking about it, I reached for a cup, picked up the amphora of wine, and broke my vow, pouring myself a full one. I realized I was going to need Bacchus' help for any chance at peace this night. I was well into my second cup when Gaius appeared. He had lost the bandage around his head, but the patch of hair that the medici had shaved away so they could stitch the gash caused by the horse's hoof that had struck him down still had not grown back, and although the stitches had been removed, the scar was still an angry pink. In truth, it was somewhat comical-looking, but Gaius was in no mood to be teased.
"Macrinus said you had something important to tell me, but he wouldn't say what it was." His eyes bored into mine as if he could divine the answer from deep in my soul.
I found it extremely difficult to form the words, and I am afraid I tormented my poor nephew by fits and starts, until I swallowed the lump down in my throat and forced the news through my teeth. When I was done, he sat back with an expression that I am sure was very close to the one on my own when I first read the scroll. It was stunned disbelief, mixed with a fair amount of fear.
"How can this be? This isn't right," he finally managed, echoing Diocles in spirit if not in the exact words.
"No." Even to me, I sounded as weary as I felt. "It's not. But it is."
Gaius was silent for a bit, then looked up at me with the same question written on his face that I had seen on Diocles, Macrinus, and Flaminius.
"I don't know right now, but as I told Diocles, I still have to get the army to Siscia first. That gives us some time," I answered before he could utter the question.
"How long a march is it going to be?" Gaius asked, and I sat for a moment, considering what I knew of the terrain between Serdica and Siscia.
We would be going back in the most direct fashion, more or less heading on a westerly course that veered slightly north, but if we took that route, there was one potential trouble spot along the way. Serdica is three day's march southeast from Naissus, and it had been almost six years since we had assaulted the city with Marcus Crassus. While that was enough time for repairs to be made on the walls and the buildings that had been damaged or destroyed in our assault, it was still recent enough that I suspected the townspeople would not have forgotten the sons and husbands they had lost, and the women that had been raped. On the other hand, the bulk of the population had been taken as slaves, leaving perhaps a third of the original population behind to serve as breeding stock, for lack of a better term, to rebuild the city and region. Once reaching Naissus, we would turn almost due north until we reached the Danuvius, then head west, following the Savus (Sava) when it branched off, which would lead us eventually to Siscia.
"Three weeks, at the most," I finally answered, as an idea began forming in my mind that, while it might not solve my personal problem, was a possible solution to the larger issue of leading an angry army back from an unfruitful campaign.
Marcus Primus, under what can only be considered an armed escort commanded by Volusenus and Galba, were the first to depart the next morning. They would be riding, hard, on a similar route to the one we would be taking. For a long moment, I considered keeping it from them, but finally I went to the Praetorium to inform Volusenus of my concerns about Naissus, and that it would be wise for their smaller party to give it a wide berth.
"That's very commendable of you, Prefect," Volusenus said coldly. "Of course, it can be viewed in a number of ways. Although one might think that the Praetor, and Galba, and I, for that matter, falling into the hands of some bloodthirsty Thracians eager for vengeance might convince the Princeps that justice had been done, one can also view it that if that were to happen, then you would be the only one left to face the consequences."
I stared at Volusenus, inflexible, and I was pleased to see him wilt a bit.
"Frankly, Volusenus, at this point, I don't really care how 'one' might view anything," I replied evenly. "I've never knowingly allowed Romans to fall into a situation where they would be badly outnumbered and face possible massacre. Ever."
Somewhat to my surprise, Volusenus met my gaze, a slight change in his expression, reminding me of a man examining a horse that he is thinking of buying.
"Fair enough, Prefect," he finally answered. "I will say that your reputation before this...incident has been exemplary, from everything I've heard. I apologize if I inferred that there might be some darker motive behind your warning. And yes," he finished, "I see what you're saying and I agree. We'll swing out of the way of Naissus. Just in case."
My last sight of Marcus Primus, at least in Thrace, was of a frightened, broken, fat little man, with none of the bluster or bravado that had been such a feature of our first meeting. But it was Masala for whom I felt the most empathy; because of his status as Primus' personal aide and not officially being a Tribune attached to the army, he had to accompany the disgraced man to his fate. Once I had gotten to know the young man, and more about his situation, I found it impossible to dislike him. He had done many small favors for me, and I knew he had done his best to limit Primus' damage, but now he was likely to suffer at least some of the consequences from Primus' actions. At that point, I was confident that the worst Primus faced was perhaps exile, and that was only if he was not allowed to keep any of the money that he had extorted here in Thrace to pay for a massive bribe to the jury. Consequently, Masala would be much less likely to suffer a penalty as severe as Primus, and if his father were wealthy enough, he might yet escape any censure whatsoever. So I believed, anyway. Speaking of the money, Volusenus ordered me to bring the bullion with the army, warning me that he was in possession of the tablets that provided an exact accounting of the sums involved.
"Down to the last sesterce," was how he put it, finishing, "When you arrive at Siscia, you'll receive instructions about what to do with it. Until then, it must be guarded with you and your men's lives. Is that understood?"
"Perfectly." I am sure the bitterness I was feeling managed to seep into the words, but I did understand that as usual, the money was more important to the man who ruled Rome than the lives of the Legions.
Perhaps a third of a watch after Volusenus and his party departed, the army began marching, following in the same direction. As soon as we got fully on the march, both Macrinus and Flaminius left their spots to come trotting up the column, calling to me. The Tribunes were in a similar mood to mine, but I am sure that it was more about the idea of this campaign being cut short than any concern about my fate. More likely, they were worried that somehow Primus' and my disgrace would somehow rub off on them, which I will admit was a reasonable concern. No matter what the cause, none of them objected when I turned Ocelus out of our command group, with an order to continue the march. Drawing off to the side, I walked along the two Primi Pili, none of us speaking for a moment.
"What did that prick Volusenus have to say?" Macrinus broke the silence, to which I answered with a grunt.
"Just that we need to keep our filthy hands off the loot," I said finally.
"Pluto's cock, that's really all those patricians are worried about, aren't they?" Flaminius spat his bitterness into the dirt after he spoke.
"Well, it is a good deal of money," I put in mildly, but my thoughts were elsewhere, trying to determine the best way to bring up what I had in mind. Finally, I opted to just jump in with both feet.
"I think I might have an idea about how we can make sure the men get something out of this campaign."
Not surprisingly, both men were eager to hear what I had in mind, and I wasted no time in describing my plan, such as it was.
The idea was very simple, but of all the things that I have done during my time under the standard, this is probably the most underhanded thing I have ever done, and despite the fact I had no congress with the gods at this point, I knew there would be a reckoning of some sort. As plans went, it was deceptively simple; we were going to fall on Naissus and strip it bare, taking everything worth a sesterce. In essence, I was going to turn two battle-hardened Legions loose on a town that had, in all reality, done nothing worthy of being attacked the first time, when Marcus Crassus had sought to make a name for himself. My reasoning, such as it was, went something like this: At that moment in time, I was sure that I was doomed, so it was not that hard a decision to actually do what I was being charged with in waging an unauthorized war on a peaceful people. At least, this way, it would solve the problem of having an angry army at my back the rest of the way back to Siscia. I knew with every mile that drew us closer to home, the men's anger would grow, as they realized that their chances of enriching themselves decreased with every homeward step. This was a decision prompted by desperation, although I did hold a faint hope that the sight of our approaching army would enrage people with memories of the last time a Roman army descended on their city. If they let their passions overrule their sense, they would give me the pretext that would excuse an act that I was going to perpetrate no matter whether they did anything provocative or not. It was a very, very thin hope, but it was all I had at that point. When I was finished, neither man spoke for a moment, then finally Macrinus broke the silence.
"Well, that will certainly appease the men. If," he added, "Naissus has managed to recover from the last time we were there."
I realized I had quite forgotten that the 8th had been one of the Legions leading the assault, but I was struck by a sudden memory of a tall, lean Optio, leading his men onto the rampart from the siege tower that they had pushed up against the wall. Remembering the stark, helpless fear of watching my nephew in his first major action as a junior officer was a memory that still made me break out into a cold sweat. Gaius had done well, but I had almost met my end, thanks to my fight with Prixus and, in reflex, I looked down at the leather harness that I still wore over the remnant of my little finger. In that moment, I was assailed by a number of feelings, but I am ashamed to say that guilt at what I was about to unleash on the people of Naissus was not one of them. All I saw was a means to an end, a way out of a predicament that was not of my making but one for which I was ultimately responsible. It never occurred to me that I would be handed the perfect excuse by the people of Naissus themselves, but that was exactly what happened.
Moving an army of any decent size is impossible to do with any amount of stealth, unless you are moving a short distance, under the cover of darkness perhaps, such as getting into position for an attack. But an army on a normal march, even when it is just two Legions, is easy to spot coming from a good distance away. So it should have been no surprise that the Moesians of Naissus, seeing the cloud of dust hovering above us on the horizon as we drew nearer to the city, had the time to send out mounted scouts. Our vanguard reported a party of a dozen men that they spotted on a hill, which our line of march would skirt, but by the time I cantered Ocelus up to the front, they had disappeared. The Centurion in command of the advance Century gave me his report, yet I still did not think much of it.
